


Back to You

by TheStraggletag



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fragile blossoming fluff, Just two babies being shy and hopeful, May be a one-shot or continue, Rating May Change, Sequel to The Long Road
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22460404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: Sequel to The Long Road. Sometimes we move on from places and people. And sometimes we just think we do.Belle and Rumple reconnect in NYC.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anonymous prompt. 
> 
> The Japanese restaurant mentioned in the story does not actually serve alcohol. I took a bit of artistic licence to comply with the prompt.

He didn’t know what to expect, really. So he hadn’t let himself think about their date, choosing instead to make the necessary arrangements to prolong his stay. After that he had visited Bae’s old neighbourhood, taking in the sights and wondering about his son’s life there, trying to see if there was anything that told him about the adult Bae, who he had barely gotten to know. 

By the time he arrived back at the bookstore Belle was waiting for him outside, wearing a grey coat and a beret, looking in her element on the streets of New York. In Storybrooke her high-end, avant-garde sense of style had certainly stood out. Very few appreciated her adventurous take on fashion, and he wagered the only reason she hadn’t gotten snide comments for her short skirts or sheer tops, or mocking laughs for her daring colour pallette and use of prints was because she was the Dark One’s wife.

He tried not to read too much into it when she spotted him and her face broke into a familiar smile, one he had only seen her direct at him.

“Hey.”

He had never managed to get over the short-circuiting his brain did sometimes around Belle. But judging by the widening of her smile she still thought it charming and not pathetic. Small comfort. She looped her arm around his left one, minding his cane, and fell into step with him as easy as breathing.

“Hi there. Where do you want to go for dinner?”

“You’re the one who knows the city, sweetheart.” What the fuck was wrong with him, why did he call her that? Why did his infamous self-control take a fucking vacation every time he was in the vicinity of his wife? “Surprise me.”

If she felt uncomfortable by his faux pas she didn’t let it show. She took him to an area of Manhattan called the East Village, to a white-bricked building with a bright red banner he couldn’t read on the door. The interior was small and slightly outdated, and he sat down as she ordered at the counter for them, trying to get comfortable. When she sat down she told him how she’d found Otofuku a month into her life in New York, while on one of her usual visit to Strand, an apparently popular used bookstore nearby. They served Japanese street food which was to die for, as well as a home-made plum wine that, sadly, they did not bottle to take. 

“I’m not ready to venture much outside the city, not yet, but I’ve been travelling the world through food and Japan has some of the best food you’ve ever tasted. I figured you’d like the experience. I know food is one of your weaknesses.”

Belle had learned that early on, back at the Dark Castle. And once in Storybrooke, when he had finally shared with her his past as a lame, poor spinner, she had understood why. She had never said it outright but she’d always made a big deal out of every meal they shared, especially dinner. 

They were served fast. Belle had ordered a house special, the Deluxe combo consisting of a pancake-like dish, a bowl of noodles and some sort of fried meatballs with sauce and flakes of some kind. They were brought a carafe of the house plum wine, lovely golden in colour and with a couple of actual plums at the bottom. She taught him to say “kanpai” as the toasted and walked him through the dishes, delighting in his expressions and the awed way in which he saw her handle chopsticks. The server had been gracious enough to give him a knife and fork.

He had expected things to be awkward, stilted, or at least tense. Had expected to struggle for things to say, for how to behave around her. But, surprisingly, it wasn’t. He enquired after her life in the city, enjoying her colourful anecdotes. She was a natural storyteller in a non-traditional way, easily making him feel as if he’d been there with her for her first subway ride, or the time she’d gotten lost at the Met. The wine helped, slightly sweet and easy to drink, served chilled to perfection. 

By the time they got a second carafe the mood had turned somewhat serious, Belle talking about her first days outside Storybrooke, second-guessing her decision and scared of the world before her. She apologised for not saying goodbye in person, feeling that though she had done it partly because she knew he wouldn’t let her take the dagger with her- “And I wanted so much to do that for you, to free you of it”- she had also done it because of cowardice. 

He tried to recall the white-hot anger he had felt, the sense of loss and betrayal. The sheer pain of realising she was gone, that she had left him. But he couldn’t, not when her eyes got glassy and he could see shadows under her eyes. He found himself instead telling her about what it felt to have the voices of the Dark Ones in his head muted, about how blissful the newfound silence in his head was. Told her about his recent efforts to connect with Henry, and how that had forced him to clean up his act a bit, which meant releasing the fairies, for a start. He didn’t miss the way she brightened up upon hearing that. 

“It’s easier now, with the influence of the dagger muted to a distant murmur. Not that Regina or the Charmings are rushing to set aside their inherent mistrust and holier-than-thou attitude, but I’ve made a solid start. And it’s nice to talk to someone about Bae. Hadn’t noticed how thirsty for knowledge of his father Henry was.”

Miss Swan, apparently, did not talk to the lad about him at all, and the thought of it still angered him. How quickly she had moved past his son’s sacrifice. Everyone had.

“Henry’s a good kid, very strong-minded. I’m sure he’ll make up his own mind about you, whatever everyone else says.”

By the time they were digging into their dessert- some sort of weird fish-shaped cake with banana and some sort of chocolate and hazelnut concoction- the mood turned light and sweet again. Belle delighted in watching him bravely cut into the head of the fish cake, trying not to make a face as he popped the bite into his mouth. It was surprisingly good, the chocolate and hazelnut spread devine and he moaned as he took another bite. When he looked up Belle’s eyes were glassy and her cheeks flushed. They had drunk too much without realising. The wine was just too good, sweet and smooth, too easy to drink.

When he insisted on seeing her home she did not refuse him. They grew silent in the back of the cab, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Belle rested her head against his shoulder, the alcohol making her sleepy and affectionate as it tended to do, and it felt right to let her snuggle, to wrap an arm around her and catch the faintly envious glance of the cab driver on the rearview mirror. It felt suddenly like the end of a date, the thought scary as it was thrilling. He told himself over and over that he was in New York for closure, to understand why Belle had done what she did and come to terms with it. And they had certainly delved deep into that conversation. Now he could truly begin to heal and move on, which is what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

They arrived at a modest but nice-looking brownstone on the edge of Chelsea, one in a row of many similar buildings. He instructed the cabbie to wait for him and escorted her to the door itself, feeling a sudden spike of panic. Was this it? Was it the last time he saw her? Did she wanted it to be? Did he? And if he didn’t, what could he do about it?

“This was lovely, Rumple. Seeing you here. I didn’t think you… I’m just glad. That you did.”

She looked lovely under the low light of the nearby street lamp, her cheeks flushed with drink and her hair mused from her impromptu nap on the taxi. His heart fluttered, alerting him to what he had already suspected. He still loved her. More than ever before, which he had not thought possible. Madly.

“It was… wonderful to see you. Thank you for dinner. And for… for everything.”

For the dagger, and for forgiving him for all that he had done to her. For never losing the ability to see the best in him. For being one of the two truly good things in his life.

“I enjoyed it.” She bit her lip and got a look in her eyes that sent a thrill down his spine. He knew that look. It was the look she got right before she did something brave. A look of resolve mixed with the slightest tinge of fear. “You said you were staying a week, I assume to explore the city. Perhaps you need a guide?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” He had no time to cringe at how rough and desperate his voice sounded, or to fully consider what he was getting into, and how messy a week with Belle would make their inevitable parting. Why should he care when Belle was smiling and writing her number on the receipt from the restaurant, telling him to call her tomorrow.

“Sweet dreams, Rumple.”

She kissed him on the cheek before biting her lip and going inside the building, gently closing the door behind her. The cabbie honked at him helpfully, lifting him out of his stupor and reminding him that the meter was still on. He got in, muttered his hotel address and spent the rest of the ride trying not to grin like a fool.


End file.
